At the moment an awful thrill shot through him; he caught a glimpse
of Fred close in shore and going like the wind. The couple were still
preserved from the fangs of the wolves, but only heaven knew how long
it would last.

A short distance ahead an opening showed where a creek put in from the
woods and hills. Monteith gave it only a glance when he skimmed past
at the same furious pace as before. It looked as if there was hope at
last, for the brutes first seen were all at the rear. If new danger
came, it would be from others that ran out on the ice in front.

"It seems to me that all the wolves in Maine are on this little
river," was his thought, "but there may be a few left that will try to
get into our path."

A wild cry came from his friends and he glanced toward them. Not only
that, but believing his help was needed, he sheered over to them as
quickly as he could.

The course of the river had changed, so that a ribbon of shadow
extended along that bank, partially obscuring the form of Fred
Whitney, who seemed to cling to it as if therein lay his safety.

The brutes were now so far to the rear that there was little to be
feared from them, though they still kept up the pursuit, and while
able to follow in a straight line were doing so with more speed than
would be expected.

It struck Sterry that his friend was not skating with his utmost
skill. He was alarmed.